


Crumbling Castles

by t0rnt0rin



Category: LGBT - Fandom
Genre: Karlnapity, M/M, karlnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0rnt0rin/pseuds/t0rnt0rin
Summary: Karl is lost, stumbling through life with no real sense of purpose, then comes across a poet who makes existing hurt a little less. (Not really a royal!au)





	1. Notebook Paper

**Author's Note:**

> do not share my work, fanart is okay <3 i am a minor and there will be no heavy sm*t scenes

I didn't want to be here in this dusty ass library, drowning in the smell of old books while listening to my overly enthusiastic company talk about the dance that our college was holding. Sure, the library is pretty dope and I'd come here in my free time, but only by myself. 

“Karl, what do you think we should do for the dance? Stay at home and watch horror movies or-” 

“-Or try to find some people that think we're acceptable to go to the dance with. We've been through this before, Quackity, and my mind still hasn't changed.” I grunted, running my fingertips that were currently pigmented with a forest green through the cracks in the table, not even bothering to think about the splinters I could get, “I came here to read about Hades and Aphrodite and be a good little religions major, not get bugged by my best friend.” 

Of course, I knew this would disappoint him and he would still aggravate me about going with the poet in my creative writing class. I'm not gonna lie, say he's unattractive, act like it's something I'd be opposed to. It wouldn't be too bad to go to my first dance with a pretty boy that has chocolatey brown eyes and a smile as soft as his charming personality. He's gorgeous, but very much not interested in me. 

Quackity must be reading my thoughts like the weird psychic he is, because now he's whining and slamming his hands into the table, “I swear to fuck- If you don't stop acting like he doesn't like you, I will actually get up and fight you.” He hissed, his his jet black hair going with his movements, “You're always so down on yourself. I'm not letting you miss out on another dance just because you're scared of rejection.” 

That's easy for you to say. I thought, examining him and trying not to grin because he really was handsome. What is stopping me from asking him? “You say that because you've never gotten rejected.” I scoffed, giving him the Do you really think I don't know you? look. 

I've known Quackity since we were kids. We used to run back and forth to each other's houses to grab snacks that the other didn't have, just to run back into the forest outside of our neighborhood. His hair was wavy around his jaw as he never really liked going to the barber, always wearing the same overalls despite his mom continually scolding him for it, and his teeth imperfectly perfect. He was so free. 

There's no telling where this boy is now, because all I see in front of me is an emptiness so pungent you could tell from a mile away that nothing lived there. 

When did he start to hate his beauty marks? What made Alex think that everything about him was wrong? He never wears his hair naturally anymore. I loved his wavy hair, yet I don't know if he's lost, tired of being the person he used to be, or scared that if he were that boy again everyone would leave. 

“Of course you know me, Karl! But this is the time of your life where you live it to the fullest. Please, do this just once and if you don't like it, I'll do anything you'd like. You can shun me if you want.” Quackity begged, doing those puppy eyes where he really did look like the son of Aphrodite. Huh.. 

“I'll think about it.”

He knows I would. I'm not exactly one to be untruthful, all I do is think about what was going on in the past or if I have the power to change the future.

I was lost in my own thoughts by the time Alex finally changed the subject, staring blankly at the table with my brows slightly furrowed. A lot is going through my head at the moment and I get on the question of ‘When is the last time I looked in the mirror?’

Then Quackity was snapping his fingers in my face because the bell had rang, urging me to go to lunch and there really wasn't any reason for me to argue. 

My days usually go as mundanely as the scene that just played out. I conversate, philosophize, then dissociate. I am so tired of the monotony. I am so tired of waiting for something to happen when the same thing repeats itself every day. 

So why, out of all days for something to happen, did it happen on August 25th? 

Every day of school, I sit next to Nick in creative writing and ignore everything the teacher says so I can watch his hand create lovely poems on notebook paper. He acts like no one is watching and for some time he had me convinced that I was stealthy until he began describing me. We met eyes once he was done writing, the grin he was wearing blinding yet I couldn't look away, “Hello, Nick.” I whisper, covering my mouth with my sleeve so he couldn't see the smile I wore, “Your writing is beautiful.” 

“As are you.” Nick hummed, leaning back in his chair with a quirk of his brow and the grin still plastered on his face. How is he so calm when I can barely get my words out? God knows that I'm bright red right now, trying not to giggle or splutter out a disagreement, “Tell me, Karl. Do you have anyone you're going to that stupid dance with tonight?” 

You've got to be kidding me. 

My heart pounds and I'm not quite sure how to respond to that, but I manage, “I don't, actually.” 

Nick responds, “Then let me take you somewhere. I don't think you should waste your time at a dance with wasted freshmen.” 

We met in the parking lot later that evening.


	2. Checkered Blanket

It's 6:00 PM and I'm walking to the park with a blanket in my hand, a backpack in Nick's. We were both silent until he began, making me smile in the slightest, “Tell me about you.” he requested. 

I obliged, “Well.. I'm a freshman in college, I'm 20-” 

“No. Don't tell me the boring stuff, Karl. Tell me your aspirations, tell me what keeps you up at night, tell me why you look over my shoulder in creative writing.” Nick suggested, looking at me with such a curiosity that I haven't seen anywhere before. 

What am I supposed to say? Maybe I'll just let my mouth run until he tells me to be quiet or gets uncomfortable so I stop. Do I even know what my aspirations are? No, so I won't start with that. What keeps me up at night? 

Got it. “The thought that nothing really even matters keeps me up at night.” I replied, tilting my head to the side as I met his eyes, “One day, no one will know I existed and I can't do anything about it.” 

Nick went silent before stopping dead in his tracks, “You did not just say that to me. Do you actually think- Are you forty? Are you having an existential crisis?” he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face and for a moment, I was afraid he'd rub his face off. 

“Nothing really matters, Karl. Everyone has come across that thought in their life but that thought in itself doesn't matter.” He explained, guiding me to the spot in the park where he wanted us to sit, “Your little reality, the one you're in right now, is all that matters and even though it's hard to do, I need you to focus on this little reality and not what happens once your reality is over.” 

My face is burning, lip quivering, but I somehow hold back the urge to burst into tears, “Well,” I started, voice wavering, “stay in my little reality a while. I suppose it's nice with you here.” 

We were sitting now, the grass slightly cold under my fingertips and damp from the sprinklers that went on their final round at 3 PM. I laid back onto the blanket, turning my head to the side to look at him and drink in the details of his appearance. 

Again, chocolatey brown eyes, dark hair, freckled skin just like my best friend's. He was oddly handsome. I couldn't look away. 

“Karl, you stare at me as if I'm the only beautiful thing you've ever seen.” Nick grinned, looking at me in the corner of his eye, “You barely know me yet you hold fondness.” 

“I've seen the things you write. I know your heart.” I replied, my voice a whisper and my hands shaking as I turned to look back at the night sky through the trees in the park, “You've poured your soul onto notebook paper and I've seen it with my own eyes. What's on your mind as of late?” 

It felt as if my throat were closing, “You've been writing poems about drowning.” His eyes closed, the smile on his face softening but still genuine, “What has been drowning you?” 

“Nothing.” Nick whispered, voice timid. 

“Don't lie to me. You have no reason to, do you?” I tried, meeting his eyes with the same curiosity I was given earlier, “Something is drowning you and I can't help pull you out of the water unless you let me, Nick.” 

A large hand was encasing my own and I had to hold back a gasp. I hadn't really noticed our size difference before, yet both of his hands could cover one of mine completely if he tried. He was surprisingly warm despite his cold demeanor, the cold demeanor being why I never tried to gain his friendship in the first place. 

When I met his eyes it just shattered my heart, “Everything.” Everything? 

“Nothing makes me as stressed as the overwhelming weight of everything and no one to tell about it.” He replied, locking our fingers together with a fond hum, “I know I can tell you about it now, even if we leave this place and decide to be just friends. Nick is one confident person but what is he with no one to be confident around?” 

My heart stuttered, “No one is proud when they are alone.” 

“Indeed, Karl.” 

He doesn't have to be alone anymore, tell him. 

“You don't have to be alone anymore, Nick.” I breathe, running my thumb over the skin of his hand, “Tell me everything.” 

And he did. 

Never in all of my days had someone ever been as trusting and open towards me. Nick told me why what keeps him up at night keeps him up, he told me why he likes boys, he told me why that every breath he takes is not for other people, but for himself and I listened. 

I didn't end up in his lap or tongue tied or under him but I did end up holding his head to my chest while he trembled, while he kept muttering to me that he was sorry, that he didn't want to make me feel bad for him, yet I didn't say a word. 

He scared me, so I just stayed dead silent, held him until I wasn't scared anymore, and went home at the end of the night with no exchange. I didn't kiss him or his cheek. 

I went home to the white noise of television in the background while my father ignored me like I meant nothing. My feet gently tapped against the staircase, having left my boots by the door, before I was running as lightly and quietly as I could to my room with a piece of notebook paper from Nick in my hand. 

It told me nothing except the name of a song.


End file.
